


A House/Wilson Story in 10 Drabbles

by pan_ismyhomeboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bedside Vigils, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Relationships, House is an ass, Illnesses, M/M, Wilson needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:31:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_ismyhomeboy/pseuds/pan_ismyhomeboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romance, angst, and comfort through the lives of House and Wilson. 10 of the first 100 drabbles for the Fanfic Prompt Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House/Wilson Story in 10 Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from my LJ account, originally written in 2011.

**001.Beginnings.**  
It begins like so many of these stories do: accidental, unintentional, unforgettable. A chance brush of knuckles, a sideways glance that lingers, a glow of heat deep in the belly. One becomes more aggressive, putting on a front of sharp anger and retorts to hide the truth while the other becomes quieter, withdrawn, accepting the unjust treatment as he knows he must. Finally, after yet another forced yelling match about nothing in particular, one leans across the desk to shut the other up. Neither is surprised when it ends with a kiss.

 

**002.Middles.**  
The sex is amazing. Neither is going to deny that. The first time they sleep together - the first time they actually _do it_ , not just fumbling under clothes in the supply closet between shifts - it’s enough to make the romantic swoon and the cynic admit maybe, just maybe, there’s something to this L-word after all. (And if the former is distracted enough to let that word slip pre-, during, or post-coitus, the latter is, for once, kind enough to let it slide.)

 

**003.Ends.**  
Call it destiny, or a self-fulfilling prophecy, or the final imbalance of a serial giver paired with an emotional kleptomaniac, but it was a long time coming. Finally, all it took was one bad day with tempers running hot, with words said that could never be taken back.

“I never promised you forever,” he says, and the other turns away to hide his tears.

“I thought-”

“I know. Get out.”

Sleeping alone again, in beds too cold and clean to be lived-in. One stubbornly tells himself that nothing good lasts forever while the other wonders when he’ll ever get his happy ending.

 

**004.Insides.**  
It’s like nothing ever happened and as far as they know, no one’s the wiser, though Wilson is quieter than usual and House has stopped taking lunch breaks in his office. In fact, he stops hanging around the other doctor all together. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to see the emotional devastation that is Wilson post-breakup, but in reality it’s because he can’t ignore the guilt that crashes against him every time they’re together. To an outsider, it’s business as usual; to House, it’s an ache just as sharp as the one in his leg.

**005.Outsides.**  
It’s a good long while before they spend more than the absolute, bare minimum number of seconds together as required by their work. House’s limp has gotten worse, but he hides it so well only his ex -- ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend, take your pick -- can tell. Wilson’s paunch is significantly smaller, and when House opens his mouth to make a smart-aleck remark he doesn’t, brows instead knitting together in thought.

“You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good,” Wilson admits, pressing a shaking hand to his fevered face.

 

**006.Hours.**  
In a way, House feels he should have been prepared for it. If he had been paying attention and not avoiding his ex, he would have seen the signs days ago; as it is, in a matter of hours Wilson goes from pale and feverish to lying on a gurney, hooked up to one machine after another. House takes up the case immediately, barking orders at the other doctors and grilling Wilson viciously about his symptoms. “I’m fine, really,” he rasps. “Don’t worry about me, Greg.” It’s the last thing he says before falling unconscious.

 

**007.Days.**  
House does not leave the room. He immediately cancels all cases, which Cuddy overrides, and later he’ll feel a faint swell of pride at how his team picked up the slack without him. They bring him test results and questions, always hesitating at the door until House snaps at them he doesn’t have all day. Cameron comes in one evening and finds House passed out from exhaustion, sitting next to the bed with Wilson’s hand in his. When House wakes up, Cameron’s coat is wrapped around him like a blanket and Wilson is still lost to the world.

**008.Weeks.**  
Cuddy comes in every morning and evening for a progress report. She tries to tell him that he’s not doing Wilson any good like this, that other people need his attention, too. On good days he calls her a bitch and tells her to get out; on bad days, he bows his head and says nothing. She keeps him on the payroll and makes sure House gets his meals delivered. So resigned is she to House’s vigil that when he bursts through her door she immediately expects the worst. “Gregory-”

“He’s awake.”

Both of them race down the hall.

 

**009.Months.**  
Rehabilitation is a slow, painful process, and it’s nearly summer by the time Wilson returns to his office. He cracks the window open and lets in a warm breeze, gently batting at the blinds. When he turns around, he’s not surprised to see House leaning on the door frame.

“You’re back.”

“Observant as always, I see.”

House says nothing for some long, awkward moments, and so Wilson prompts, “Miss me?”

House grabs him by his jacket and pulls him into a rough kiss, then just as swiftly departs from the room. Wilson doesn’t stop either of these things from happening.

 

**010.Years.**  
House, the man who’s never on time for anyone, shows up to the bar half an hour early. Fidgeting and restless, he’s already made enemies with the staff and convinced himself this was stupid, stupid mistake. He grabs his coat and finishes his drink when the bartender places another in front of him. “From the brunet over there,” he says with a nod of his head. House turns; there’s an unreadable look on his face as Wilson crosses the room. “This seat taken?”

“I _was_ waiting for a guy,” House says, pulling out the stool for him. “But I guess you’ll have to do.”

“I guess I will,” Wilson agrees, sitting down. Take two.


End file.
